A/N: EXCITING NEWS! I now have fan art and a TV Tropes (created by reader Eliasfw) page for this fic! Three pieces of fan art, to be specific. I'm absolutely blown away by this. I remember when I first started writing fanfics, I dreamed that one day my stories would be well-liked enough to inspire fan works and TV Tropes pages. So this is a really big deal for me! I will post the links on my bio as well as here, so please do go check them out! FF doesn't allow us to post links so I'll write out what websites they're on and you can paste the rest of the url in. If you like the fan art, go show the pieces some love! And a HUGE thank you to the readers who created these pieces of art and the TV Tropes page.

This is one titled "Kindness": on DeviantArt ... /art/Kindness-69356510

This is a sketch of Sophie: on Instagram ... /p/BWddVSmgIfG/?taken-by=thejack_wayne

This is one the artist called a "sassy sketch": on Tumblr (user imbxckytrash) ... /post/162750930113/so-i-found-this-old-sketch-i-did-of-sophie-and-the

This is the TV Tropes page (and feel free to add to it!): on TV Tropes ... /Fanfic/RunWithMe


They both stood feet apart and stared at each other. Sophie desperately searched his expression and eyes for any indication that he was going to comply with Pierce's orders. Her heart was pounding so hard she imagined even he could hear it. She'd gone with her gut on him—but the fact was, he'd so far obeyed every order Hydra had apparently given him. If she'd misjudged him…she was going to pay dearly for it. His eyes were locked on her face as well and he seemed to be searching for something, though she didn't know what it was. She didn't know how long they both stood there, postures tense, staring at each other, but when he shifted slightly, she skittered back a few steps immediately, throwing up her arms defensively.

He froze in the action of raising a hand to his head and cocked his head slightly, staring at her with narrowed eyes. "So you expect me to attack you," he said calmly, "even though you got yourself thrown in here for me." He paused and nodded to himself. "Smart girl. I've attacked you before. You're right to be on the defensive."

"Am I?" she asked breathlessly, trying to sound calm and not hysterical. Her breath came in choppy waves and she couldn't stop herself from imagining him lunging at her—putting his hands on her the way Rob had—smashing her head down on the concrete floor and cracking it open like a coconut, blood and brain matter spilling against the floor in a dark pool… No, Sophie, he wouldn't kill you. Hydra still needs you. She managed a wavery smile. Small consolations.

"Why are you smiling?" he demanded.

"Because I know that even if you hurt me—you won't kill me." She laughed humorlessly to herself at the absurdity of the situation—the fact that she was relieved that all she would receive was some pain and abuse—and then her laughter turned into hysterical, nervous giggles.

He frowned. "Stop that. Stop laughing."

But she couldn't. Her giggles kept coming in breathless rounds and they sounded more high-pitched by the minute. "I can't," she said. "It's funny—it's so funny that I feel lucky that all I might get is some pain instead of death… I'm a lucky girl…"

He stared at her for a very long moment as she tried to calm herself down and then he suddenly backed up against the wall behind him and slid down it, coming to rest on the floor, his legs splayed out in front of him. "No," he said so quietly that Sophie almost didn't hear it at first.

She stared incredulously at him, a tiny spark of hope igniting in her chest. Could she have possibly been…right about him? "You're—you're not going to do what he told you to?" she stammered.

He very slowly turned his head to look at a camera blinking in one corner of the room. Then he slowly looked back at Sophie. "I will," he said quietly. "But I have time. I'll give you another chance. I'm sure Hydra would prefer you in…peak condition."

For a moment Sophie wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not—but then she caught the glint in his blue-green eyes as he widened his eyes a fraction of an inch towards her. He was silently telling her something. She felt a heady rush of relief that almost knocked her off her feet when she realized he was lying to them. He'd promised that he would hurt her in front of the camera so that they wouldn't be able to say he wasn't doing his job—and his excuse was that he was doing it for the ultimate better of Hydra. Plus, Pierce hadn't told him when to hurt her. From most angles, Winter was faultless.

She wasn't sure this mattered to Hydra, however. Would he be punished for this act of defiance later? Had she somehow added to his torture or whatever they did to him (aside from freezing him)?

"Understood," she said, staring directly at him, hoping he understood that she saw his true meaning. She backed up against the opposite wall and slid down it, her back resting against it, feet thrown out in front of her. They sat across from each other, twenty feet away from each other, and stared at each other for a very long time. Sophie was trying to reconcile these new changes in his behavior—and, unknown to her, he was doing the same thing to himself. Finally he spoke: "I have questions."

"And I have rules," she said quickly. He waited. "You have to stay on your side of the room at all times," she said. "You may be—not hurting me now but…if you really want me to…" Trust you. "You'll stay on your side at all times," she ended feebly. True, he was defying Hydra—but for how long? If he wanted to prove that there was something else to him, he would listen to her and stay far away from her. She still remembered the feeling of Rob's hands all over her. The frat boys who had circled her. The pain that came after Winter held his dagger to her throat or slapped her in the face. To trust him, she needed him to listen to her and stay away from her.

Her request had been choppy and broken but he seemed to have understood her meaning. His face was pale, expression blank, eyes glittering strangely—but he gave a short nod and she breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she knew he would stay on his side, away from her…she felt a little freer. Technically, it was probably stupid to believe him; he could easily have lied and cross over to her in a matter of seconds, pin her against the wall, and throttle her. But he'd defied Hydra once now, hadn't he? It gave her hope that he'd keep his promise to her now.

They sat in a heavy silence, the tension between them so thick that it almost felt tangible. Finally he languidly asked, "So was this a part of your plan? Getting imprisoned?"

"Er—no," Sophie admitted. "It was not."

He raised an eyebrow slowly. He seemed to be doing everything slowly today, versus his usual lightning-fast reflexes and temper changes. It was almost as if he was exhausted and unwilling to put on a show, now that he was in his home territory. All pretenses could be dropped. That was how Sophie saw it, anyway. She couldn't help cataloging his behaviors and trying to attribute back stories and explanations to them. It was the reader in her.

"I actually planned to tell him privately that I wouldn't help him unless I got to keep you with me." She laughed tiredly to herself, knocking comically on her skull to show how stupid she was. "I was under the delusion that he wanted me to work for him so badly that he would have agreed to my terms and let you…I don't know. Stay with me. I see now how stupid that plan was. You're too valuable to them. And he clearly doesn't let people boss him around."

"Keep me with you," Winter repeated, as if he didn't understand what she meant.

Sophie fought hard not to blush. She could see he was genuinely confused. "I mean like…stay in my room or something. I just wanted…" She sighed. "I just wanted to get you away from them. But like I said, it was a stupid plan from the start. I was just being idealistic. Not only would they never have let you do that, but even if you stayed with me, they could come and retrieve you any time. And eventually they would have frozen you when they needed to…preserve you." Sophie's stomach turned at the word and she squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the image of Winter being pickled in a huge jar like some kind of vegetable. Bad wording.

He opened his mouth to speak and then slowly shut it, looking just as thrown as he had when Sophie had asked him why he truly worked for Hydra. He didn't seem to know what to say in response. She waited for him to speak but it became clear that wasn't happening anytime soon. He had lapsed into silence again.

Time passed slowly. The cell had cement floor, cement walls, and cement ceilings with one heavy door with a small, barred window set into it to her left. The lights in the room were dull and flickered every now and then, casting a horrible greenish glow over them that made them both look like they had some sort of terrible disease. She could hear a steady water drip somewhere in the cell, even though she couldn't spot it. The red light in the camera blinked steadily, slowly at them in one corner, an omnipresent eye.

She thought she was going to explode from pent-up frustration and nervous anticipation and worry. This was almost worse than being dragged around by him because at least then they'd been alone. Now she was hyper-aware of the fact that someone was watching their every move—or recording them, at the very least, even if they weren't actively watching—and she felt like she couldn't do anything because of it. She'd already betrayed that she considered Winter a friend (though the word was still highly debatable in her mind)…if she revealed any more, it would only be to her detriment, wouldn't it?

And yet—what other choice did she have?

And is he really a friend? No. He wasn't a friend to her. He might have defied Hydra once and so far kept his promise to her…but he wasn't a friend to her. He'd done things that no friend would ever do. Still, somehow Sophie felt like both of them were teetering on the delicate edge of something that could be called trust. They hadn't fully reached it yet—neither of them were ready to let go of their reservations and defenses yet—but they were inching towards it, both casting equally suspicious and curious glances at each other.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she burst out eventually, after several hours had seemed to pass. "Aren't you going to ask me anything? I have questions for you! Don't you have any for me?"

He'd been staring fixedly at the ground and raised his head at her outburst. "Yes," he said.

"Yes what?" she snapped. "Yes, you're going to say something, or yes, you have questions for me, or yes, I can ask you questions, or—"

"All of them," he said quickly, as if hoping to shut her up before she started on one of her endless babbles.

She waited for him to ask her something but he didn't speak. She bit back a frustrated sigh and then said, "Okay. Fine. I'll ask first then: Why? Why aren't you…following Pierce's orders? What changed? I thought you were all about completing the mission. Why are you breaking the rules now? And if you wanted to break the rules, couldn't you have decided this a little earlier?" she mumbled under her breath. Judging by the way his eyes narrowed slightly, he'd heard her.

He opened his mouth to speak and Sophie braced herself for an important revelation—and what came out was, "No."

"Excuse me?"

"No," he repeated, swallowing. His cheeks were stained with a dull flush and if Sophie hadn't known better, she would have sworn he looked embarrassed. "I'm not answering those questions."

"Why not?" she snapped. "You just told me I could ask you questions!"

"I changed my mind," he snarled. "I'm not answering any questions. Why don't you tell me why you're doing all of this? Do you think I'm your friend? Because you're wrong. I don't have friends. I don't make friends. I'm not a friendly…"

"Person," Sophie snapped. "You can admit it—you're a person. I know you try to hide it—or maybe you don't even know sometimes—but you are."

"So why?" he pressed, ignoring her.

"Why the hell should I tell you?" she shouted. "You didn't answer any of my goddamn questions!"

They both shut their mouths and glared angrily at each other, stuck at an impasse now. She desperately wanted to know why he was choosing to show her mercy now but he'd randomly decided he wasn't going to tell her why, which was so incredibly ridiculous and stupid. And yet he expected her to explain her decisions to him? Hypocrite, thy name is Winter Soldier, she thought furiously, clenching her fists.

"You're doing it wrong," he snapped.

"What?" she demanded, her tone still raring for a fight.

"You're making a fist wrong. You—never mind," he said suddenly, lapsing into a sullen silence, his head and shoulders sinking slightly. Sophie gaped at him, wondering if he suffered from bipolar disorder, but he gave no sign that he was pulling out of his sudden funk. She suddenly felt exhausted by their short spat and curled up on the cold hard ground, pressing her hands together in prayer position to use as a pillow under her head. She closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. The chill from the ground seemed to radiate up through her entire body and she had never been so glad for her thick, woolen sweater as she was now. She lay there, vaguely trying to come up with reasons why an underground lair in Brazil in the summer would be chilly—was there some scientific principle that explained this?—when…

"My name."

He whispered the words so quietly that Sophie would have missed them had she been in any other place. However, she was in a deathly silent dungeon, tense because she was locked in with a dragon, and so she heard it. One eye cracked open and she stared at him suspiciously before slowly sitting up and asking, "What?"

"My name." The words came out mumbled again and he seemed to be avoiding her eyes. "You asked me…what my name is. And I don't—" He hesitated. "I don't have one—but I think I might. I just don't remember. And you asked me what it was and I…don't know. You asked me a lot of things I don't know and I'm doing this because…" His voice trailed off and he looked haunted.

Sophie's heart gave a squeeze. He's doing this because he's starting to want to know who he is. He's starting to realize he's a person. And I'm the only other person who even gives a crap. "Well…since fair is fair…" She cleared her throat. "I'm doing this because…despite the things you did to me…I don't actually think you chose to do them or enjoyed doing them. I could be wrong but—but I'm probably not, at this point. Hydra's wronged you in some way, whoever you really are, and I wanted to stick up for you. I might be the only person who cares about what your real name is."

He gave her a faint shadow of a smile and she actually clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. His smile immediately vanished and he got a guarded look in his eyes. "What?" he asked in a low voice. "I didn't even move."

"No," she breathed. "It's not— You didn't scare me, you—you smiled," she finished weakly. "Do you realize…you've never smiled even once? Or shown any sort of happy emotion?"

He definitely looked the opposite of happy right now. In fact, he looked embarrassed and angry. "I didn't smile," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly with his hand.

Whatever you say. Sophie didn't push him, but she was elated on the inside. This was an extreme step forward to him, in her opinion. He'd actually shown emotion and what was more, he'd smiled. He has such a nice smile, she thought to herself, feeling almost dazzled. He should show it off more often. Yet again she was strangely reminded of the fact that had he not been twisted by Hydra, whatever they had done to him, he would have been a normal young man in his mid- to late-twenties and handsome to boot. She could easily envision him in the crowd at a rock concert or perhaps even a hipster coffee bar, girls flirting with him. What kind of person, she wondered, would the Winter Soldier have been if he hadn't been so messed up?

It felt like they'd exhausted their talking for the time being. She couldn't blame him for not talking anymore. This was possibly the most she'd heard him talk ever. For a man who was normally so accustomed to silence and obeying orders without question, this must have been an extremely strange experience.

Sophie tried to retreat into her personal dream world to escape the monotony. She'd always been good at that—blankly withdrawing into her shell to imagine unlikely scenarios and situations in her head, where she was always safe and there was always an escape—but lately she'd found it harder to lose herself in it. She wondered if it had something to do with the fact that her real life had been thrust into disorder and chaos, making the dream world seem…flat in comparison. What was the point imagining that she was a princess locked in a dungeon, waiting for a prince to save her—when she actually was locked in a cell…albeit with no prince on the way?

But that was okay. Because Sophie was realizing that she could save herself.


Hours passed and they sat in silence. He was as still as a statue and she found herself staring at him, awed by how still he could sit. However, she'd never watched him so intently before and she realized that he did move. The movements were so subtle and quick that she almost missed them, but occasionally his hand would drift slightly, his legs would give a random twitch, he would bite his lower lip for a second…

At some point she heard heavy footsteps walking down the hall outside the cell. Her heart froze and she stared at the tiny window in the door, slowly edging away from it subconsciously. Was it another guard, sent down to replace Winter? Perhaps they were unsatisfied with the lack of violence going on down here. If someone tried to throw Winter out and take his place, would he defend her? Or was he not that far gone yet?

But it was only dinner. She saw the dark head of a guard momentarily and then he was crouching, a hand shoving two trays roughly through a flap at the base of the door. They slid across the floor and came to rest near Winter. They both stared at them for a moment and he looked up at her expectantly, as if he expected her to get up and get her tray. When it was clear that she wasn't going to get up, he examined both foil-covered trays and then expertly kicked one with his feet, sending it shooting across the floor directly at her.

She caught it and ripped the foil off. A soft, bruised apple. A lumpy, sad-looking sandwich. And a carton of water.

Who the hell made cartons of water?

"Wow," she mumbled sarcastically. "Really going all out with this meal." She looked up at Winter, expecting some form of agreement—and was shocked to see that his tray had a lot more food on it. "What the hell?" she said. "Why do you get so much more food?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

Of course he needs more food, the rational part of her said soothingly. He's much bigger than you and he's some kind of superhuman. He probably burns a lot more energy and needs more calories—kind of like Michael Phelps or something. Plus, were you expecting Hydra to treat you well? They probably want to starve you.

The irrational, hungry side of her said, I'M HUNGRY, DAMMIT, AND HE GETS MORE FOOD THAN ME! This is so unfair!

"Catch," he said and whipped something at her so fast that she blinked and it smashed against the wall next to her head. She didn't even have time to flinch. In fact, she didn't even see it; she just heard it whiz past her. She turned to see a mushy, soft, mostly destroyed apple laying on the ground near her. She scrunched up her nose and glared at him. "Thanks a lot," she said.

"You were supposed to catch it."

"Even Joe DiMaggio wouldn't have caught that," she snapped.

He frowned. "Who?"

"He was a really famous center fielder," she said. Seeing his blank expression, she sighed. "My dad's really into baseball. Joe was a—"

"Baseball player," Winter whispered.

Sophie froze and stared at him. "You do know about him? You—you know about him?"

"I…" Winter's expression looked a bit pained. "I think I…I think I saw him."

Sophie suddenly remembered what Pierce had said: the Winter Soldier…had been around for decades. Her body felt like it was growing cold and numb, a chill running down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold ground. Just how long had he been alive for? Presumably he'd been born and grown up to be—twenty-five to twenty-nine, whatever age he was when he started getting frozen…but when had that been?

Had he seen Joe DiMaggio as a fan of the New York Yankees in the early 1900s?

Or had he seen Joe DiMaggio from the rooftop of a nearby building, holding a sniper rifle, in the early 1900s?

What if he'd been born centuries ago?

No—NO. Don't be stupid, Sophie. She sternly stopped her wild imagination in its tracks right then and there. Hydra may have been around for a while but they haven't been around for centuries—there's no way. And there's no way he's from the 1800s. She had a sudden image of him in old-fashioned Regency era period clothes, brushing his lips against a faceless woman's hand like Mr. Darcy, and fought back nervous giggles.

"Do you remember any more?" she asked eagerly, food completely forgotten. "When did you see him?"

"I think—" He frowned to himself and rubbed at his eyes, looking beyond weary now. "I think I… I don't know," he finally said. "I have no images. No real memory. But I feel like—I can feel myself watching him, knowing him, being…being excited over him," he added in a bewildered tone, as if he couldn't fathom being excited by anything now. And he probably couldn't.

Sophie was no expert on—well, anything except books and how to be a hermit, but she had a feeling, from what he was saying, that he'd seen Joe DiMaggio as a normal person. This wasn't necessarily true, of course; he could have seen him in passing as the Winter Soldier, on his way to kidnap some other poor, unfortunate soul. But why would the Winter Soldier have felt excitement over seeing Joe DiMaggio? No. Sophie had a strong feeling that he'd seen Joe as a normal human—which also meant that as a normal person, he'd been a New York Yankees fan…which also heavily implied that he was from New York (or at least a neighboring state, probably).

A thrill went through her. She finally felt like she was getting somewhere in his mystery. It was all tentative guesswork at this point but she might have a time period for when he was a normal person and a possible location for where he came from—and something he'd enjoyed, apparently.

So if the Winter Soldier has been active for decades…that doesn't leave much time. He was probably frozen for the first time anytime from 1940 to 1970, I'm guessing.

"By the way," she added, "good choice in team." She pointed at him. "I don't think I could ever talk to you again if you were a Red Sox fan."

He blinked.

"Sorry. My dad's a huge baseball fan and he indoctrinated me," she explained. "Dragged me to a bunch of games as a kid. I don't actually really care. But I hate the Red Sox on principle."

He didn't look like he cared much so she stopped babbling and pinched her tray, pulling it closer to her and examining the food. The sandwich was a peanut butter sandwich. After inspecting the bread for mold (which it didn't have, thankfully), she tore the sandwich into pieces and ate a few pieces, downing the entire carton of water and shuddering at the cardboard-y taste.

"You need to eat more," he said in a low voice.

She looked up and saw that he'd been watching her eat. "Excuse me?"

"You're small. And if you want to survive this…you need to eat."

"Hark who's talking," she said, pointing to his untouched tray. "You need food too!"

He sighed. "I can bear longer without food."

"But you shouldn't have to," she reminded him. When he still looked mutinous, she said, "I'll eat if you eat. Deal?"

"Enough already," he snapped—but he reluctantly dragged his tray closer to him and began picking at the food as well. Hiding a triumphant smile, she finished the sandwich and then examined the apple. Nah. Definitely not worth it.

Since that tray had technically been dinner, she supposed night had fallen and was surprised to find that she was actually sleepy. She hadn't realized it but the whole day had somehow passed in between their long silent stretches and periods of talking and arguing. She shoved her tray aside and lay down again, using her hands as a makeshift pillow. Her hipbone pressed uncomfortably into the ground but there was nothing she could do about it. She lay there for a moment, trying to convince herself it wasn't so bad—what was this, compared to sleeping out in the open in the Andes mountains? (The honest answer was harder)—and then she finally took her sweater off, balled it up, and stuck it under her head like a pillow. She would be colder this way but at least she'd have a pillow. She felt bad for a moment that Winter didn't have a pillow—but then, he didn't seem like he was the type to really care. He was probably used to worse, as depressing as it was.

Who would have thought, back in that abandoned factory when he dragged me kicking and screaming down the stairs, that we'd end up here? she thought sleepily before fading away.


She woke up early next morning. Well—she was going to assume it was the next morning. She wasn't sure what time it actually was, not having a clock or a window. She'd had the most uncomfortable sleep of her life and her entire body felt sore. A dull headache pulsed at her temples and she felt like crying. Hydra was definitely not going to give her two Tylenol and a cup of hot tea to help her headache, like she did at home. She'd gotten them quite frequently at home—the cons of being a voracious reader—and they'd made her miserable. She hadn't had one in a while but she could tell this one might work itself up to a migraine. The thought was horrifying. Migraines left her hardly able to move.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes blearily, and then leaned against the wall, yawning and pinching the bridge of her nose. When she peeked up, Winter was sitting against the wall and watching her in a detached sort of way, as if her morning actions were vaguely interesting to him. She frowned at him and suspiciously asked, "Did you watch me sleep all night?"

"No."

"Did you sleep at night?"

"No."

She rolled her eyes. "Smart. Not eating and not sleeping. That'll make you heal faster."

Surprise flickered across his face. "Heal?"

"Uh, your wounds? The ones a mountain lion gave you?" He couldn't have possibly forgotten already, could he? There was no way he lacked that much of a self.

"Oh," he said blankly. "No." He suddenly began unbuttoning and unzipping his vest, holding the ends open to show her his bare chest. Her jaw dropped. The wounds—the wounds which had been angry and bloody red a mere few days ago and should have taken weeks to heal—already looked like faint pink, shiny scars.

"H-How?" she gasped.

"I heal fast."

"I'll say," she whispered. She locked eyes with him and tentatively asked, "So you can heal fast, run fast, hear better than others, are stronger than normal people… You are human, right?" Her mouth quirked up into a half-smile.

"Yes," he answered as if her question hadn't been a rhetorical joke.

"No, I meant—" She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose again, hating the dull, steady pounding in her head. The pain was building. "How are you able to do this? What did they do to you? You weren't born like this, were you?"

He shrugged.

"Come on!" she said, frustrated. "Give me something to work with! You know Captain America? All-around good guy and hero? He's a super-soldier. I think that's what they call him. Is that what you are? Or were you born like this—are they powers that you have or something?"

He stared at her. She nearly screamed in frustration. Why didn't he ever talk? He was the one who said he wondered what his name was, yet he seemed to have no curiosity about anything else! Why was she doing all this digging if he wasn't going to be helpful?

"Okay, forget that," she said, irritated. "Do you remember anything about your past? Do you remember any time before—before Hydra?"

His eyes looked blanked and troubled as he thought hard for a long moment. "No…"

"Nothing at all?" she pressed. "Not one childhood memory? Not one hazy face in your mind of someone you knew? There can't be just darkness before Hydra. You have to have something before Hydra—people or places or even…objects or smells or something. You remembered Joe DiMaggio so there must be something else…" She was mumbling to herself now, him almost half-forgotten.

"I see people," he whispered.

"What?" she asked sharply. His words sounded like something out of a horror novel and his white face didn't help. He looked more frightened than she'd ever seen before and this shocked her. It felt…somehow wrong. As if he didn't have the right to look this way—but of course he did. Sophie was just projecting old resentments back onto him.

"They…they're not real," he amended.

"You don't know that!" she said urgently. "Tell me about them!" When he hesitated, she said, "Okay, dude, listen. I pretty much gave up my freedom and any chance at being treated well so I could help you—but I can't help you until we figure out who you were. And to do that, I need you to tell me things."

"What are you going to do with the information anyway?" he asked somewhat aggressively. "Are you a detective?"

Her mouth twisted. In a sense. You'd be surprised at how my mind works sometimes. "Just tell me," she insisted. "What do you have to lose?"

Apparently nothing at all, because he began to speak. He spoke haltingly, telling her about ghostly images and sounds and smells and touches. People, places, snatches and glimpses of a life someone was living. Words directed at him, some of them faded and kind, some more recent and taunting him, pulling at him, tugging at his mind. "It's me in the visions," he said in a low voice. "But how can that be possible? I can feel it. I'm in…a store." His blue-green eyes went out of focus and got a glazed look to them; he was drifting in the moment of a vision. "I'm looking at shirts. I'm looking at a girl…a salesgirl? She's…pretty. I'm—I can feel my mouth smiling, it's me, but…" He snapped back into focus and looked at Sophie almost desperately, as if begging her to somehow explain and make all the confusion go away. "But I didn't do any of that. I don't understand what's going on. I never had this before—I never saw any of this before—I…"

An awful idea had bloomed in Sophie's mind. "How long are your missions, usually?" she asked.

He frowned, thinking. "A day or two…usually."

"Have there ever been longer ones?"

"A few. I don't remember. But…a few."

"Were you alone on them?" she asked. "Or did you have to—touch base or report back to someone? Whatever. You know what I mean."

"I…I reported back," he said, looking puzzled. "So—?"

Sophie stared at him, feeling sickened but also a tiny bit elated, because she felt like she'd found another piece to the enormous puzzle that was him. "I think you've been having your memories suppressed by Hydra."

He looked merely taken aback for a moment—and then his face turned into a snarl. "No, I haven't," he said sharply.

"Then explain your visions," she said loudly. "Then explain why you never seem to really remember the details of everything. It's not like memory suppression doesn't exist, you know, it—" She paused. In truth…she'd never heard of forced memory suppression in real life. She'd heard of brainwashing, indoctrination, and accidentally memory loss…but never someone actually having their memories suppressed. She'd only ever read it in fantasy and sci-fi books. But still, the Winter Soldier himself seemed straight out of a sci-fi book. So did all the Avengers, in fact. The aliens that had invaded New York a few years ago were clear proof that these things existed. So why not memory suppression?

Because that was what it was. She knew that sci-fi books and movies liked to use memory wiping as the term du jour but judging by his almost hallucinatory visions, his memories hadn't been erased at all. They were just buried deep underneath whatever they'd done to him. And she suspected that they regularly suppressed his memories as touch-ups; this was probably why he had to touch base on longer missions.

But now he'd been away for almost two weeks now without being in Hydra's grasp—was it possible that his memories were resurfacing? Could they be that close to the surface? Or were her pointed questions helping him recall them more quickly? Whatever it was—time and distance, or Sophie—she knew it was working.

She explained her thoughts to him and saw his face whiten with every word. His hands clenched so that the tendons in his human hand stood out like taut rubber bands ready to snap. He clearly didn't appreciate the idea that his mind had been regularly tampered with and that he might have been made to routinely forget it—along with forgetting his original person. She didn't blame him. The thought was invasive beyond belief. She'd considered it might have been done to him before but now she was almost convinced. And it had happened to him; she couldn't even imagine how it would be to realize that the blank spaces in your mind had been forcibly put there.

In that instant, Sophie forgave him for everything he'd done to her. She couldn't help it. Perhaps it was foolish of her to. Maybe she was being too trusting. But her heart ached in so many different ways at the perplexed, angry, almost hurt expression on his face—as if he were a naïve child who had never expected this betrayal—and she couldn't hold his actions against him any longer. Whatever he had done, it was clear that his mind had been tampered with and he hadn't been in full control at all.

She liked to believe that the man he'd once been—the one who'd gotten excited over seeing Joe DiMaggio play at some point—would never have hurt her.

"We can find out who did this to you," she said almost desperately, seeing him struggle to take normal breaths. "We can—"

"HOW?" The word burst out of him in a furious scream and he suddenly looked livid, hunched over and clutching at his hair, breathing heavily. "How, Sophie?" he shouted. "I know nothing! I am nothing! And you're nothing, too! Hydra is everything and they're never going to let us do anything." He laughed bitterly. "They're recording us. When they see how much I know, they'll probably just wipe me again. At least now I know what the chair is for." A strange, almost-horrified expression crossed his expression. "The chair… Now I know."

"The chair," Sophie repeated uneasily. "What chair?"

"It's in a room with machinery around it," he said automatically. "They attach things to my head—I don't remember what happens after—of course I don't," he said harshly. "Of course I don't. But they…I don't know. I DON'T KNOW!" The words burst out of him in frustration and he slammed his metal fist on the ground, creating tiny hairline cracks in the ground and a small crater where his fist had hit.

"Winter, calm down," Sophie begged. "It's okay if you don't remember what the chair does—"

"No, it's not! Because I know but I don't know! And now that I know, they're going to take me to it, and this time I will know what's going to happen—but when it's over, I won't, and I'll be gone again." The furious torrent was pouring out his mouth and his eyes had a crazed look to them, almost demented. "I—I'll know I'm going to lose it all and it'll happen and then it'll be like—like I never—"

"I'm not going to let them take you to the chair again," Sophie said fiercely.

He sneered at her. "What are you going to do? Hundred pound girl who doesn't know how to fight—"

"First of all, I'm a hundred and ten pounds," she snapped.

He gave a mirthless laugh. "Amazing. I'm shaking in my boots."

"And second of all, I…" She froze and her heart began to pick up speed. Am I really doing this?

Yes. She was.

"I have other skills," she said softly.

He focused on her with laser intensity and immediately asked, "What are they? I knew you were hiding something."

Her eyes darted to the camera and he caught her look. His eyes burned with curiosity but he nodded tersely and settled slowly back against the wall. He seemed to have calmed down from his outburst, for which Sophie was eternally thankful. Hydra knew the vague outline of her skills but she sensed that they didn't know the specifics. How could they? She hadn't used them in years and when she had, no one had seen her use them. She didn't want to reveal anything by accident that they might not have known.

An hour later, they heard loud, clomping footsteps, the whistling of a guard, and two more trays were shoved into the room. Winter slid hers to her again, her name written on the foil. It was some sort of gray, lumpy oatmeal and a carton of milk, the kind Sophie used to get in her elementary school lunches. It was disgusting but she forced herself to eat because he was right; if she wanted to survive this and help him, she needed energy. She pictured Belgian waffles with powdered sugar and syrup while she ate to distract herself but this backfired and ended up making her appetite diminish.

Sophie asked him questions after. He looked like he didn't want to respond but when Sophie reminded him that she needed information to help him, he grudgingly spoke. She asked him about any family he remembered, any friends, places he had lived, jobs he may have worked, a significant other. He remembered nothing but bits and pieces: a small blond man and also a large blond man that he said felt like the same person. This puzzled Sophie. He remembered girls—quite a lot of them. Never any names or distinct facial features but he remembered dance floors, bars, the colors of dresses and hair.

"So you were a ladies' man," Sophie said dryly. "I…no offense, but I really can't see that." She could more easily picture him slamming a woman down on a mat wrestling-style than she could picture him cuddling up to one. An image of Winter, dressed in full combat gear, a bored expression on his face, cuddling some faceless woman filled her mind and she bit back the urge to laugh.

"Neither can I," he said bluntly, looking disgruntled. "It doesn't matter. None of this matters. Whoever I was—that's all gone. And all of these people must be dead."

"Not necessarily," she argued. "We have no idea when you were first…um, frozen. Or taken. Or whatever. Maybe you were twenty-nine in the sixties! Those people could all still be al…" Her voice trailed off. He'd suddenly closed his eyes and tilted his head back, as if he were meditating. The cross-legged pose he sat in didn't really help. "Um, what are you doing?"

"I…wasn't frozen in the sixties," he murmured. "I pulled off my first kill…on…in the '50s. A man, a politician, a— No. A Civil Rights…an early activist."

Sophie felt sickened by this revelation. She knew it was silly to feel sickened by this after all she'd seen him do, and all she knew about him, but still—he'd just admitting to killing a black Civil Rights activist. If she ever needed proof that Hydra was pure evil, this was it. She was suddenly seized with sudden panic and tried to recall the year that Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. He couldn't have murdered one of the most influential men of all time…could he? She remembered that he'd died in the sixties…but that still didn't mean he hadn't killed him.

What if every high-profile kill could be attributed to him?

Or even most of them?

Not his fault, she chanted in her mind, trying to ward off a sudden chill. Not his fault. Not his fault. If Hydra had suppressed his memories, she was pretty sure they'd tampered with his mind and body to turn him into this…well, super soldier. That was really the only term for it. They weren't above doing that, she was sure of it.

And as for the metal arm…

"Tell me about your arm," she said. "How did you—um, I mean—did you always…?"

"I don't know," he said dully, "but in the visions, I don't have it. So…"

"So Hydra gave you a metal arm," she said, feeling a little confused. "Why would they give you just one arm? Why not both arms? Or why not most of your body?"

"Cybernetic arm," he corrected. "Not metal arm." His tone was scornful.

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I'm kind of the worst expert on technology ever," she mumbled under her breath.

He shrugged listlessly. "I've always had it but…" His face screwed up in thought. "I see…I see myself—no, I feel myself laying on something… I'm lifting my arms up and looking at them and it's like—it's like I know that…they're new? That was the first time I ever saw them—it."

"Okay, but why still one arm?" she asked impatiently. "It makes no sense."

He shrugged again.

They suddenly heard voices from outside the cell, sounding far off down the hall: loud, angry, argumentative voices that were carrying closer and closer, accompanied by short, clipped footsteps and the heavy stomps of a guard. It was way too early for their next meal. Sophie's mouth went dry and she scooted back against the wall, staring at the door in trepidation. Her heart began to pound. Was someone coming for her? Or Winter?

The arguing voices grew clearer and she strained to hear them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Winter go very still as he listened as well.

"—Director said no—"

"I don't bloody care what he said! This is the find of the decade!"

"Go ask him, then, I can't let you in—"

"Stand down, soldier," the other voice—an English voice—suddenly said angrily. "How do you think the Director would feel about you treating his best scientist like this?"

"I have orders—"

"As do I: the betterment of Hydra. Do you stand against those orders?"

"No!" the guard spluttered. "But you can't just—!"

"I can and I will. The Director need never know and if he finds out, tell him I held you at gunpoint and forced you to let me see her. I'll happily take any punishment he doles out to me; it'll be a small price to pay for examining her." The voice grew elated. "Can you imagine what's going on inside her head? Inside her body? The things she's rumored to do—what I wouldn't give to open her up and examine her insides…" His voice filled with longing.

Sophie, on the other hand, filled with terror. This was something straight out of a book. There was a mad scientist on the other side of that door who wanted to dissect her. Her breathing grew shallow with panic and fear and she prayed the guard would remain firm.

"But sir—what about the danger?"

"Really, soldier, don't be ridiculous," the scientist snapped. "Have you seen her? The girl doesn't weigh seven stone soaking wet."

"Uhhh—stones? She…what?"

"Oh, for god's sake!" the man shouted angrily. "Idiotic Americans! I come to Brazil and I still can't seem to be rid of you! It means a hundred pounds! Now, do you really think a small girl like her poses a threat to me, when I have guards around me at all times? Do you really, guard?" His voice dripped with derision and awful scorn. "Because if you feel she poses a threat, I welcome you to lay down your life for me. What an honorable way to go—"

"Fine," the guard snarled. "Whatever! I don't care. It's your head the Director'll have. Go see it. And watch out; the Soldier is in there."

"I know," the scientist said indifferently.

The door slammed open and a man stepped into the room, a large guard with a flushed face angrily hovering near the door. The man was short and skinny with frazzled white hair that stuck out at all ends, crooked glasses on his nose. He wore a baggy brown suit and had a slightly manic expression on his face. He fit the stereotype of "mad scientist" so well that Sophie almost couldn't believe it.

"Ah," he said, his eyes finding Sophie and gazing at her in rapture. "It's you."

She pressed herself closer into the wall, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up knees, glaring at him.

"Such spirit," he said, seeming moved. "What's your name? Sophie, correct?" He waited for an answer and continued when she showed no sign of responding. "My name is Dr. Thomas Rorkin. I've been wanting to meet you ever since I heard what might be arriving here—but then you vanished! And I thought all hope was lost… But here you are now. Marvelous," he said in a hushed voice, as if Sophie had just done an amazing back flip. He was scrutinizing her with scientific joy, as if she were some clinical sample or lab experiment. There was nothing in his gaze that suggested he saw her as a human.

He coughed and cleared his throat. "Well. I'd like to chat with you, Sophie. Your mind—it contains a miraculous gift. And how you got it…I'd like to know that as well. I thought I might have a talk with you down here but it's far too gloomy, and I don't like this one"—he hooked a thumb at Winter—"listening in. Empty in the mind, he is, but rather unnerving, don't you think so?"

Winter, ever well trained, didn't react. He stared with disinterest at the wall beyond Rorkin but Sophie thought she saw a shadow of something flicker across his face briefly. No one else noticed. The guard at the door had stormed off in a huff (Sophie thought that was pretty negligent for a moment before she realized they must still assume that Winter was their guard; he was still one of them, in their eyes) and Rorkin only had eyes for Sophie.

"Ah. I see. Stubborn girl. Still, I expect I can make you talk." He sniffed angrily. "They've gone about this entirely the wrong way—but what do you expect when working with a bunch of empty-brained brutes? Their first response to everything is violence, rather than reason. Anyone could tell you that keeping you in here is no way to let your skills bloom! But—ah, a discussion for another time." He backed away to the door and said, "I'll be sending a guard down soon to retrieve you. I hope you're in a more talkative mood by then or I'm afraid there will be repercussions. I'm risking quite a lot to privately speak to you, you know." He gave a strange half-nod and backed out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind him

Sophie listened to his clipped footsteps fade in the distance, the door to the lower level slamming shut, and then she stared at Winter in blind horror, feeling almost paralyzed with panic. He was going to take her somewhere and no one knew about it. Even Pierce wouldn't know. He'd be able to do whatever he wanted to her—strap her down and poke and prod at her—and ask her any questions he wanted. And if she didn't speak…what did repercussions mean?

The thought of being strapped down on a gurney made a hysterical scream of panic rise in Sophie's throat, choking her. The thought of being locked to a chair or some hospital gurney, having her mind and body tampered with it, a white sheet covering her—

No. No, no, no, NO, I WON'T LET THEM DO IT!

Her heart racing, she licked her lips and wildly looked around for some kind of escape.

"Sophie," Winter said in a low voice.

Where could she go? What could she do?

A defense—

She needed something to defend herself with. A knife. A gun. Something. Something she could pull out if things went awry. She thought she could take the scientist. He'd been skinny and weak-looking. She was small herself but unlike the scientist, she was fighting for her life.

She let her head fall forward so a dark curtain of hair swung in front of her face, covering it from the camera's view on her right. Then she looked up at Winter and mouthed, "I need a weapon."

He stared at her for a long moment. All Sophie could hear was the pounding of her heart. This truly was the make it or break it moment. He could give Sophie a weapon—and then she'd truly know he wasn't on Hydra's side anymore. Or he could let Sophie get taken away defenseless or perhaps even snitch on her for wanting a weapon.

His eyes looked pointedly down at his hand. She looked at his hand and saw it drift almost casually, gently, towards his left-side pocket. Then his hand returned to his lap. For a moment, Sophie had no idea what he'd done and stared at him, bewildered. She'd asked for a weapon and what had he done? Moved his hand an inch towards—

OH.

Her mouth opened wordlessly when she realized what he had done: shown her where he had a weapon for her. In his left-side pocket, pressed right against his upper thigh. He was clever; if he'd obviously shown her and someone was watching…they'd know for sure he wasn't on their side anymore—and then how long would it take before they marched down here, dragged him away, and suppressed his memories again?

This way his cover remained. She'd offered to help him but he hadn't actually taken any actions against Hydra yet. Just said stuff against Hydra—and those words could easily be forgotten with memory suppression.

Now Sophie was faced with a bigger question: how to retrieve the weapon?

It seemed simple at first but the more she thought about it, the more she realized how hard it actually was. He couldn't just slide it across the floor or toss it to her—someone could see on the camera. She didn't know if someone was actively watching them or just recording for footage, but she wasn't taking any chances and neither was he, probably. She could get up and go sit by him and surreptitiously take it from him—but not only had they both maintained a large distance from each other so far, she'd even made him promise to stay away from her. Wouldn't it look extremely suspicious if she went to him without any obvious reason? She wasn't sure if she was over-thinking this but she had to think about his safety too. Sure, she could go sit by him and he could allow her too, because they seemed sort of like they were friends now—but that endangered him. He would then be considered a traitor.

However…

A sudden idea struck Sophie and for a moment, she berated herself for considering it. It was crazy, it was daring, and it was pretty obnoxious. She tried to erase it from her mind. Don't be stupid, Sophie, you can't do THAT. But the more she thought about it…the more she couldn't help but feel like it really was the best idea—or the best she could come up with right now. It would allow her to get close to him to retrieve the weapon—and the best part was that he wouldn't really have any choice in the matter. So no one could blame him.

Mind made up, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and got to her feet. She walked into the middle of the room on shaking legs and tucked her hair behind her ears so that the camera could clearly see her face as well as hear her. Winter stared at her, clearly perplexed, and she took another deep breath.

"There's something I need to s-say," she said, trying to control her shaking voice. She already felt a hot flush crawling up her neck at the thought of what she was going to do next but she ignored it. "I've tried to hold it back for a long time—but since this is the last time I might see you, I need to tell you."

He stared at her, still clearly bewildered.

"I love you," she said.

His eyes widened and he jerked back slightly, his eyebrows drawing together as he stared at her in clear shock.

"I don't know how," she said, feeling a bit melodramatic, as if she were in some sort of period drama, "and I don't know why—because of all the pain you've caused me—but somehow… I don't know." She shrugged and gave him a trembling smile. To anyone watching, she probably looked nervous because she was so overcome with her love declaration. In reality, she was actually nervous because of how insane this plan was and what his reaction to it would be. "You've done some pretty awful things but you've also saved my life and—and there's more to you than meets the eye. You seem like you never notice but you've noticed every time I wasn't eating. You've made sure I was safe from anyone else who might want to hurt me. You've even listened to me at times. And I guess I fell in love. I've never fallen in love before, so I'm not sure, but I think this is what it feels like. Either that or I'm losing my mind." She laughed shakily.

Winter was staring at her, completely paralyzed at this point, frozen, and she heard the door to the lower level slam open in the distance. The guard was coming for her—she was running out of time.

"So I just wanted to do this," she whispered.

And then she basically threw herself at him. It was weird and awkward but thankfully he didn't punch her away from him. That would have been embarrassing and disastrous for her plan. She fell forward onto his lap—they locked eyes for a moment and he looked almost afraid—and then she kissed him.

She was straddling his legs, leaning forward and cupping his face, and she was kissing him.

Who would have thought I'd do this? she thought dizzily as she kissed him.

At first he was still and unresponsive, clearly still shocked, and she kissed him more desperately, hoping he would catch on—and then suddenly he did. His hands drifted up, one holding the back of her head, the other holding her waist, and he kissed her back. It was what she'd wanted but she was still so startled that she almost fell off his lap. Despite the fact that his body and demeanor and exterior—everything about him, really—was so hard and prickly, his mouth was surprisingly soft and he was…actually a really good kisser. She felt tingles running up and down her entire body, as if she'd been shocked. She hadn't expected the Winter Soldier to be a good kisser. Perhaps kissing was like a muscle memory—you never really forgot how to do it, even though it might have been ages since you did it. Like riding a bike.

He was so good that for a moment she forgot what she was supposed to be doing and she melted into him, kissing him back, his facial hair scratching her face slightly—it had been years since she'd kissed anyone and she'd never kissed anyone like this—and then she heard rapidly-approaching footsteps and jolted back into reality. Her hand ran down his side and then casually dipped into his pocket, slipping out a small dagger and dropping it into her sweater's baggy pocket. Now that the deed was done, she tried to pull away from him but his grip on the back of her head tightened, holding her in place—

The door slammed open and someone said, "What the hell?"

Sophie fell off of him, feeling dazed, and a guard marched into the room and yanked her up. He stared incredulously at her and then Winter, looking beyond shocked—and then he burst into loud guffaws. "Well done, Soldier," he said, giving Winter a smarmy wink. "Didn't think you cared about this kind of stuff—but hey, if I was locked in here with a dime piece like her, I'd try to get some too."

Ugh. Sophie internally gagged.

"Let's go," he commanded to Sophie. She surreptitiously felt for the dagger and then gave Winter—who looked shell-shocked—a faint smile before getting dragged out of the room by the guard.


He felt paralyzed to the spot but instead of feeling empty and cold, he felt small sparks flaring up and down his body, making him feel as if he were touching live wires. At first he'd had no idea what she'd been doing when she'd made her grand declarations of love. He still hadn't caught on when she threw herself into his lap and kissed him.

But then it had suddenly clicked: she wanted to get the dagger without drawing attention to it.

He then kissed her back to maintain her cover. He wished he could have done it in a clinical, practical way. Just a way to maintain her cover, right? Nothing special. Nothing more.

He would have been lying and he knew it.

He'd never kissed anyone—not that he remembered anyway—and he'd never wanted to. Never really understood why two humans would want to do something so…intimate. Something that left someone weak and exposed, all their vulnerable spots open.

Now he knew why.

His entire body felt like it was on fire. He'd responded as if it was as easy as breathing—and it had been as easy as breathing. As natural. As if he'd done it a hundred times before. Her mouth had been incredibly soft and so had her hair. She still smelled like the remnants of vanilla-scented soap—a leftover from the night she spent in comfort here—and all he could think of was how sweet she smelled and tasted as he kissed her back.

He'd never been touched like this before. He'd never even considered it. It wasn't for him.

And now she had done it.

He knew she'd done it simply to get the dagger. He wasn't entertaining silly notions that she was actually in love with him. But kissing her had felt good and he couldn't help but close his eyes and relive the moment over and over again, lingering on it. He hadn't experienced anything this nice in…well, ever. His life had never been one of comforts or pleasantries or luxuries of any kind.

She was somehow a kind of luxury for him.

He didn't know where the thought came from—but once it did, he knew it was true. She was infuriating and she drove him crazy with her endless questions, but she'd somehow found a way to show him the truth of what Hydra had been doing to him (or at least part of the truth). She'd managed to open something inside him, a part of him that was actively questioning everything now. She was…different. She wasn't weak. She was tougher than any of his other targets and his skin felt a little hot and itchy when he recalled all the times he'd physically hit her. He wouldn't have chosen to do that now.

He really couldn't imagine hitting her now, after she'd kissed him like that.

And most of all, he couldn't stop dwelling on the fact that while she'd kissed him, the sirens and screaming in his head had quieted to a still silence for once in his empty, cold existence.


A/N: Hello, friends! I'll keep this brief. Normally when I update after a while, I try to offer some kind of explanation, mostly because I feel bad for keeping you all waiting. However, after some nasty messages I recently received, I've decided that I will no longer give explanation if I update after a while.

I know most of you are kind, patient people—and this message is not for those of you! This message is for the impatient, unkind, pushy people who feel like they can harass writers for not updating more quickly: please keep in mind that we're all strangers online. You have no idea what is going on in someone's life. I could have cancer and be in and out of the hospital. I could be in an abusive relationship and not have much time to write because my partner is monitoring my activities. I could be homeless and bouncing from couch to couch. I could be jobless. I could be dealing with deaths of loved ones. I'm not saying that any of these are true—but I'm also not saying that they're not true. My life is a mystery to you, just as yours are mysteries to me. I'm not the same girl I was years ago when I started posted. I'm doing my best to update when I can given my life circumstances. And that's the last I'll ever speak of this. If you're okay with waiting for updates—sometimes for longer periods of time, sometimes for shorter (because good times do come along)!—then thank you! If you're not okay with waiting, then you don't have to read my stories. No hard feelings.

With that said, what did you guys think of the chapter? Let me know! I love hearing from you guys!